


Place To Call Home

by GothieCakes



Category: South Park
Genre: Abusive Parents, Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4435364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothieCakes/pseuds/GothieCakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christophe figured things would get better, but every time he saw him they always seemed to be back at square one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place To Call Home

It wasn’t unusual to find him here. The air of Stark’s pond was crisp, biting through many layers of sweaters and coats. It misted his face, droplets of water finding themselves in gold tresses, curling the strands even wilder.   
He looks over, tipped boots crunching over dead leaves on sticks, cracking of asphalt and loose rocks. The other boy looked up. His expression was blank, eyebrows furrowed into an almost V, he hadn’t looked to be wearing any coat or sweater, it was just like him. The only warmth emanating from his body was the fire tip of a cigarette hanging closely from his lips.   
His hair was messy, so were his clothes, stained, dirt caked into his boots and knees of his pants. It looked almost fresh.   
His eyes narrowed upon sight of the other, he stood up from his crouched position and carelessly flicked the dead smoke away.

The blond shut his eyes and let his lips form into a smile, imitating the others expression poorly.

“Seems you’re in a good mood.”

His thick accent echoed off the small waves of the pond to the only listening ears.  
He heard said listener scoff, followed by the metallic sound of a lighter. His eyes looked to his, dark in contrast to his own, the ember hues narrowed with a huff.

“Non.”  
  
As he spoke a puff of smoke left his lips, raspy as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. He then retook his seat, on a bench this time, tapping the ashes of his smoke off the back,

“Could of fooled me”

The blonde looked out towards the water, the waves slow and calm against the shore, he could hardly hear them over the sound of the ashes falling of the cigarette behind him.

It’s not as if he didn’t know why he was out here, coming from an explosive home never was fun. He remembered walking alone years ago, back home, seeing the brunette hunched over at starks. He had blotches of purple circling his eye, cut lips and a bloody nose.   
They hadn’t known each other well back then. He only ever heard about him as  
“that french guy with the crazy dad”  
The smoker went by ‘Frenchie’ by most of the kids since young, coming from a francophone household did hold a strong language barrier on most of the rednecks strewn around the small town.

 

After another fight one night Gregory found a twelve year old Christophe down by the water, littered with bruises and cuts. He had been shaking in the December cold with no jacket or sweater, much like now. Crystal drops fell from his cheeks as he spoke in a worried tone, his mom left him, she caught the quickest flight to Quebec and left him behind. His fingernails dug into the icy ground from where he sat. Looking more angry than upset as he thought. Gregory simply listened to the young boy even if he was finished with his words.

His father was a heavy drinker and fucked any girl who would for ten dollars. The thirteen year old would try and sneak past the occupied room each night but even so, after each girl left, he would be repaid with a black eye. He always told him he was just like his mother, his breath smelling of stale vodka and body of cheap perfume as he spat.

 

Now Christophe, was much older, seventeen and moving out in the new year with the other, it made the blond smile, but even if those were things to look forward to, the brown haired boy looked as if he had taken several hits tonight, his nose was again bloody, and light purple circled his left eye. It reminded him of the first time he found him like this.   
  
“Gregory”   
He opened his mouth to speak and shut it quickly after, 

“I saw… …non… ”

He figured over the slight drawl of his English and heavy accent, he couldn’t really translate what he was thinking, he shook his head starting over in his native tongue.

“Je peux voir Gregory…”

Gregory scoffed and kicked the dirt at his feet, adjusting his scarf to pull closer around his neck.

“You know I don’t speak your fancy language Christophe” 

  
It was a lie… He had picked up on a few words here and there… He knew what he meant…  
A few puffs of smoke escaped the others lips and ended in a pained laugh,   
“Gregory… Je peux voir les contusions… The marks on your neck-”

The golden haired reached for his neck on reflex, the scarf was pulled down enough for him to be able to see, purple bruises all across his jaw and up his neck. Staining the pale skin underneath. The moonlight made them stand out more than ever, and Gregory felt himself getting nauseous by the second.   
He scratched the back of his head, letting out a breath he didn’t remember taking and took a couple steps forward to where Christophe sat, placing himself beside him, barely an arm’s length away.

“You’re too perceptive you know?” He leaned his head back, blonde curls starting to dampen from the light snow falling.   
The other boy flicked his cigarette away pulling out another and lighting it, he seemed angrier than before, probably because of what had happened to him. He scratched at his neck,   
Their eyes met and Christophe let out a sigh, smoke rising from his lips once more

“Ton père?” 

  
His voice was low, as If he already knew.

  
“Mhm… Said I was being a brat, pretty sure he was wasted”

his tone lowered and he let out a forced chuckle.

  
“…tried to choke me out, I could of died now that I think about it”

he covered his mouth with his hand and tried to hold back the burning feeling behind his eyes.  
He felt rough, calloused fingers trace over his hand sliding their fingers together in a comforting manner,

“Christophe”

he looked to the other with a beaten expression, as if all his energy was drained from him, 

“…I can’t go back home anymore”

Christophe got up, hand still firm in Gregory’s, he dropped his last smoke and crunched it into the snow, the orange flare dissipating into slush. 

“There is an old shed, just a couple blocks up”

  
He didn’t know when but Christophe had a bag, and what looked like a sleeping bag as well clipped to it, 

“Have you been waiting for me..?”

Gregory felt his lips curl into a smile,

“Non”

“Right, of course” 

  
He slung the bag over his shoulder and with his hand in his they started walking, it wasn’t promising and the thought of sleeping in a cold shed gave him the creeps, but at least he would be safe, and under the same roof as Christophe.

 

“Vite s'il vous plaît…. Je commence à être froid” 

  
Gregory nodded and quickened his pace beside the other, it wasn’t promising. No, far from it, but it was a step towards the future, for both of them.

 

 

-END-

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i really like french Christophe, its also a headcanon that Gregory would probably pick up on a lot of what he says too so he'd start to understand him when he speaks his language. ahh I don't know anyways the translations for the things he's saying if you don't know french,
> 
> "non" literally means no... i hope you guys know that pfft  
> “Je peux voir, Gregory…” - I can see, Gregory  
> "Je peux voir les contusions…" - i can see the bruises/marks etccc  
> "Ton Père?" - Your dad?  
> “Vite s'il vous plaît…. Je commence à être froid” - "please hurry up... i'm starting to get cold"  
> -
> 
> also probably good to note i speak french, but if i messed up any grammar or verbs or smth please write so i can fix it!


End file.
